


Blue Eyes

by MuggleMaybe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M, First Kiss, Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMaybe/pseuds/MuggleMaybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred and George Weasley.<br/>Two ginger-haired, blue-eyed, freckled, Beaters, who always have jokes to tell and a trick up their sleeves. Identical. And yet...</p><p>Angelina Johnson is starting to realize there might be more to people than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Eyes

  
**Blue Eyes**  


* * *

Angelina’s foot tapped ceaselessly against the floor. She took a sip of butterbeer and glanced again toward the door of the Three Broomsticks, hoping for a glimpse of ginger hair among the crowd. Fred was nearly an hour late for their Valentine’s dinner. Not that Angelina was the kind of girl who cared much about Valentine’s Day. Of course she wasn’t.

The door opened again and her head snapped up on instinct, but it was only Roger Davies with his arm draped over the Beauxbaton’s champion. A disappointed sigh escaped her before she could prevent it. 

All around her couples were sitting just a little too close together. A pair of Slytherins in the corner had their hands all over each other. It was definitely time to leave.

Angelina dug in her pocket for a few sickles, but Madam Rosmerta shook her head. “It’s on the house tonight, love,” she said. Her expression was just a little too understanding. 

“Thanks.” Apparently being stood up had at least one perk.

It wasn’t worth it. Something scratched at the back of her throat, and she felt her eyes fill with tears. No. Angelina Christine Johnson did not cry because of stupid boys. She took a gulp of air and pushed through the door. 

When she stepped out of the pub, she thought for a moment Fred had finally arrived. “Where have you—oh. Hi, George.” Her boyfriend’s twin wore a frayed pea coat and a Gryffindor scarf, just like Fred would have, but she could tell them apart. She’d always been able to, though she wasn’t sure how.

“Hi, Ang.”

She tried to rearrange her features in order to hide her tears, but George’s face took on a look of concern and she knew she’d failed.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Oh.” Dammit. “Yeah. Fine. I was just”—

“Fred had detention with Filch today. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No. No, he didn’t.”

“Lousy tosser, isn’t he?” George laughed. “Listen, let me buy you a butterbeer. You must’ve been waiting for ages.”

Angelina glanced back toward the pub, and the mental image of Delacour and Davies groping each other pasted itself over her vision. “I’d rather not. Full of couples, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” George let his gaze fall, and his eyes swept over her.

Angelina’s breath caught in her throat. She could have sworn George had just looked her over the way men sometimes did, with that starved expression. But, no, he was studying the snow at his feet. It was nothing.

“Well, I’m heading to Honeydukes, if you want to join me.” George said.

“Didn’t you just get here?” They still stood outside the pub. It was beginning to snow.

“Yeah, well… I hadn’t thought of all the couples, but now that you mention it, I don’t think I really fancy a drink after all.”

“Right,” Angelina laughed and asked, without thinking, “No hot date, then?”

A pink flush rose in his cheeks, not quite concealed by the cold. “Er… no.”

She felt her own face warm. “Oh. Sorry.”

“S’okay.”

“I think Katie’s single. I could ask”—

“No! I mean, don’t worry about it. There’s someone else…”

“Oh,” she said again.

The two of them stood there in silence for a moment, feeling for all the world like utter strangers. And wasn’t it odd how someone who looked so intimately familiar could feel so foreign? It was nearing sundown and the wind carried an icy chill. Angelina pulled her coat more tightly around her.

“Honeydukes?” She finally asked.

George grinned and offered her an arm. “We’ll get loads of sweets and not share any with my git of a brother.”

“Perfect.” They set off through the swirls of snow, trailing two sets of footprints behind them.

When they reached their destination, Angelina paused in front of the Honeydukes’ window display, eyes catching on shiny heart-shaped tins filled with chocolates and miniature Cupid gummies. Lee had given Alicia one of the pink cauldron cakes. They’d only been together for a week! Surely after two months, Fred could’ve managed… well, _something_ _?_ No, she didn’t care. She wasn’t needy, she wasn’t a girl who pined after flowers and chocolates and—

“You coming, then?” George’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, his hand giving a gentle tug on her elbow. Well, it wasn’t his fault, anyway.

“Yes, I’m coming. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She rolled her eyes.

“My brother’s rubbed off on you,” George laughed, and pulled her behind him into the warmth of the shop. 

It was late – they probably should’ve been heading back to the castle – and the shop was no longer crowded with third and fourth years as it always was Hogsmeade afternoons. They made a full inventory of the sweets, dancing around the shop like much younger children, until they could hardly carry all of their selections. George insisted on paying for the lot of it, and by the time they left the shop with their sugary parcels and emerged once more into the frosted evening, the sun had set and the snow had thickened considerably. 

Angelina bit her lip and shot a look at her companion. “We’re late. We’ll get detentions for sure.” 

Predictably, he merely shrugged. “What are they going to do? Cancel Quidditch?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, for of course that had always been the main reason not to step out of line – or at least, not to be caught at it – but he was right. With no Quidditch because of the Triwizard Tournament, did it really matter so much?

He grinned in response to her laugh, and it was the grin she knew so well, memorized from his brother’s face, and yet also different. The candy shop windows glowed, bathing him in honeyed light that glinted gold in his ginger hair as he spoke, his words always coming so easily, and for a moment the two of them stood silhouetted under an indigo sky. Then, walking slowly, much more slowly than Angelina usually would have, they made their way back to the castle, and she watched the young man beside her smile and laugh and joke, feeling impervious to the cold, as if some burning heat spread from within her and wrapped her in comfort.

It was a long walk back against the driving wind, and by the time they found themselves in the castle’s entrance hall - to her surprise, without getting caught – dinner was over and the corridors were deserted. Angelina let her feet carry her thoughtlessly toward Gryffindor Tower, speaking in whispers now, and George followed beside her.

Even the common room was empty. It must have been later than she thought. Fortunately, the fire still lingered in the hearth, and Angelina sank down in an armchair and scooted forward until her feet, which felt frozen though, were mere inches from the blaze.

“That’s better,” George sighed, echoing her thoughts as he fell into the other chair.

Angelina unwound the red and gold scarf from her neck and unbuttoned her coat, shrugging out of the damp fabric. George did the same, and pulled off his sweater to thaw his limbs in the warmth of the fire. He did look so like Fred, of course. Not an exact replica but quite nearly. A reflection, at the very least. Like Fred, his arms were muscled and smattered with freckles.

A thought spread through her, shaky and filled with uncertainty. Why one and not the other? Why Fred and not George? She found Fred attractive, to be sure, but George was his twin, identical in every visual respect, and she could not deny that she found him equally desirable. Her mother had said, so many times she’d nearly grown deaf to the phrase, that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Never before had she understood the words so clearly. For it did not matter that they looked alike, and in this she had failed miserably. She had never looked deeper. Under the freckles and the blue eyes, beneath the strong shoulders and quick smiles, they were not so alike. Not really. She felt suddenly as if she were pulling back a curtain she had never noticed before and seeing the young man before her for the first time. Had she seen Fred like this? Had she even tried? Her mind buzzed.

A few minutes passed in silence, George content to bask in the firelight and rest while, unbeknownst to him, her mind whirled furiously. Of course, calm could not last with a Weasley, and she was duly unsurprised when George straightened in his chair and said brightly, “Well, I’m starved! Let’s take a sample of those sweets, shall we?”

“Why not?” She couldn’t deny she was hungry too. They had missed dinner, after all. She unpacked their parcels and arrayed the treats before them. It was quite an impressive display. She reached for the chocolate bar and broke off a generous piece, unable to hold in a little moan of pleasure at the taste of it melting on her tongue. Her cheeks flushed pink, and George shot her a cheeky look over his pumpkin pastie.

“Enjoying that, are we?” He raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Oh, shut it, you,” she grinned, chucking a sugar quill his way and hitting him square in the chest.

“Ow! Bloody good aim you’ve got there.” He rubbed the spot tenderly, though she suspected him of playing it up a bit.

“Well, I am a chaser,” she responded glibly, taking another bite of chocolate.

“Too right,” he nodded. “School just isn’t the same without Quidditch, is it?”

That set them off on a long and enthusiastic discussion of the game, their team, and which of them was more likely to be made captain the following year. The conversation spiralled out from there into all sorts of unexpected places, and they ate their way steadily through their mountain of sweets as they talked, until the fire had burned down to embers and the horizon was beginning to lighten from black to smoky grey. 

“Do you want this last bit of chocolate?” Angelina eventually found herself asking. They were sitting next to each other on the floor now, trying to savour the last dregs of heat from the dying flames.

“What? Oh, no, you can have it. It’s your favourite,” George smiled.

She looked up in surprise. “How did you know that?”

His cheeks reddened in the dim light. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out, Ang.”

It probably didn’t mean anything. She shrugged it off. 

“Ang?”

“Yeah?” She looked up at him, and when she saw the expression on his face, suddenly unfamiliar, her breath hitched and she could not tell if her heart sped to double time or if it stopped altogether. 

“You’ve got chocolate on your face,” he said. And then, before she had time to process his words, before she had caught her breath under his burning gaze, he was leaning toward her, his arm casting a shadow on the carpet, and his hand came to her face, his fingers gentle on her cheek, _her lips_ , as they wiped the mess away. Then her face was clean, and he should have moved his hand… Really, why hadn’t he moved his hand? His fingers twitched as he began to pull away, and to her surprise, she felt the loss of it, the unwelcome coolness along her jaw where his palm had been.

It was a loss that made her want to cry out, and she could not have explained her next action to anyone if she tried, for as his hand passed her face on its retreat, she raised her own hand to meet it, clasping it delicately in her own, and she was still. He was still. They were still. The castle, the world, the universe was still around them, and in the perfect stillness their eyes met. Angelina let him see her, let him fall into her eyes in a way she almost never permitted, and as she tumbled steeply into his, she realized how she could tell them apart. Fred’s eyes always seemed to laugh, blue like the sky. George’s eyes spoke of something else. They were blue, yes, but like the ocean.

His gaze made waves crash within her.

George pulled her close, quite nearly into his lap, and she kept her fingers closed around his large hand as she felt the warmth of his body envelop her. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with a clean, heady scent that thrilled her. Without thought, her free arm wrapped itself around his middle. He brought a hand to her face, running his thumb down her neck, and Angelina shivered pleasurably at the touch.

They moved as one, heads tilting, lips parting, hearts pounding in time to some silent, enchanting melody that swirled around them.

They kissed.

She let her lips move slowly, softly over his, fighting the delicious hunger that built within her at the taste, until she could no longer resist. George felt her intensity rise and he deepened the kiss immediately. Her body was on fire, her hand tangled in his hair. She was all urgency, all want. In that moment if he had asked it, had made even the slightest insinuation, she would have given him far more than he’d bargained for, more than she’d given to anyone before him.

Footsteps on the stairs warned them of someone’s approach. Angelina froze. George pulled away, hastily vanishing the remains of their Honeydukes haul, and ducked behind one of the velvet curtains that framed the tower windows.

Fred paused at the bottom of the stairs. He wore pyjama bottoms and a sweater, and when he yawned and stretched, the sweater rode up to reveal a band of pale skin. He looked around the common room, and started when he saw his girlfriend sitting wide-eyed in front of a cold fire. “Ang, what are you doing down here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she answered, and felt a current of worry that the lie came so easily.

“You haven’t seen George, have you? He’s been out all night.”

She swallowed her guilt and grabbed for anger in its place. “I saw him at the Three Broomsticks,” she said pointedly.

“The Three… oh, damn, I was forgot to tell you I had detention, didn’t I?” To his credit, he looked ashamed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done such a thing.

“I waited an hour, Fred! Couldn’t you manage to stay out of trouble for one day?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Save it.”

“Ang, I”—

She sighed, a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s okay. I’m not even angry anymore.”

He leaned down and kissed her, letting his lips linger. These were essentially the same lips she had kissed earlier in the twilight, but the kiss was not the same. It was a blue-sky kiss. Pretty, but flat. 

“I’m not angry, but I’m done with this.” She hadn’t known she was going to say that until the words left her mouth, hanging heavily in the air, but once she said it, she knew it was true. “We can be friends... Can we be friends?”

Fred nodded very slowly. “Yeah. Friends. Sure.”

“You’re a good bloke, Fred. Really. I just… I need some time to think about things.” It was not a lie. At that moment Angelina wasn’t sure she could be relied on to know her own name. If anything was true, it was that she needed some time to think. 

As she turned and head up the stairs to the 6th year girls’ dormitory, only one thought rang in her head. The sky was all well and good, but it wasn’t for her. She wanted the ocean. The sweet, salty, chaotic tumble of the sea.

Despite herself, Angelina smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> JKR owns these characters and their world.
> 
> This story was inspired by the song "Don't You" by Darren Criss, which I most certainly do not own.
> 
> It's really important to me that George isn't a consolation prize for Angelina. This story shows one situation that might have planted the seed for their future marriage. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this!


End file.
